


Nobody's Savior

by smooth



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Art/Beth friendship because this is everything that matters, Brief mention of Beth/Paul, Gen, Headcanon, Mentions of different clones, mentions of assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smooth/pseuds/smooth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art is thirty-four when he meets Elizabeth Childs. </p><p>She’s a typical rookie cop, acting bolder than she actually is, always trying to prove herself, and he is both slightly amused and irritated by her. </p><p>--</p><p>Art is thirty-seven when Elizabeth Childs commits suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Savior

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if the fandom actually realizes how much potential secondary characters have. And Arthur Bell doesn't get the recognition he deserves. Art/Beth is one of my all time Brotps and I just decided to write a little something. And yeah.
> 
> Criticism is always appreciated.

When he is six years old, Art’s mother gives birth to another child. They name her Sophia and she’s the most beautiful baby he’s ever seen. He remembers himself, a chubby kid with curly hair, looking at her with big amazed eyes and his mother’s hand on his shoulder.

 _You’re a big boy now, Artie,_ she says and gives him a smile, not only with her mouth but with her eyes as well, and Art doesn’t remember seeing her happier. _I trust you to keep her safe._

He looks down again and the baby gazes right at him (later his mom explains to him that babies can’t really look you in the eye during their first month; he doesn’t believe her, he’s sure of what he saw).

 _I will,_ Art promises in his mind and his mom doesn’t hear but he knows Sophia understands.

\--

Art is eighteen years old and his sister who is only twelve is assaulted by a friend of his father’s. A wealthy man in his 40s with a wife and two kids. Just like Art’s dad. Only richer.

And white.

Art recalls hearing screams and plates being smashed in the kitchen. And his mother crying.

 _This is my daughter we’re talking about,_ he hears her yell in tears.

 _She is my daughter as well,_ Art’s father replies and he sounds so very tired like Art’s granddad in his last days before he passed two years ago.

 _Then do something about it!_  

He sees the shadows of his parents distorted like monsters and he’s not a little boy anymore and he would never admit it but god, he’s so afraid. His mother waves her hands erratically and then suddenly slaps his father across the face.

His father doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t even move.

Art spends an hour after that in front of his sister’s room. At this time she’s usually chattering on the phone with some friend of hers or listening to one of her annoying CDs. Art always yells at her about the loud noises she makes, the little brat.

It’s quiet now. He would give everything to hear Madonna’s nauseating voice singing about Spanish lullabies and his sister belting terribly off-key along with her.

But it’s quiet instead.

And it’s his fault.

\--

Art is nineteen years old and he nods politely when his Math teacher hands him a recommendation letter and clasps his shoulder and smiles solemnly.

_You are one of the best students I’ve ever had, Arthur. And you will be one of the best teachers, someday._

Art has known he wanted to be a teacher ever since he was a little boy.

Later that night he tears the letter into pieces and sends an application to the police college.

\--

Art is twenty-two when he saves a girl from being raped.

It’s already past 10 pm and he’s walking home after a long shift at the police station, thinking about his own stuff, and he almost misses the scream from the other crossroad.

Before he realizes what’s going on, he’s knocked the guy on the ground and there’s so much blood and the girl is running away, maybe afraid of him just as much as she was of her attacker, and fuck, there’s so much blood.

But he can’t stop punching.

The bastard got away the first time but hell if he lets it happen again.

\--

He’s not a killer. But sometimes he wishes he were.

Some people don’t deserve better.

\--

Art is thirty-four when he meets Elizabeth Childs.

She’s a typical rookie cop, acting bolder than she actually is, always trying to prove herself, and he is both slightly amused and irritated by her. Until one day she walks up to him at lunch, clears her throat and tries to sound as confident as possible as she says:

_Um. Hey, no offense but that’s my seat, alright?_

He raises an eyebrow.

_You’ve got your name written on it?_

And that fucking newbie actually dares roll her eyes at him.

_C’mon, dipshit, are you five or something?_

Her pupils widen almost comically, a hand slaps her mouth and she shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe she just said that.

_Oh my God. Oh my freaking God. I’m so sorry. No, for real, I’m very sorry, man- sir, I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t-_

He lets her stutter for a while then slowly leans his elbows on the table.

_Did you just call me ‘dipshit’?_

Her cheeks get about ten different shades of red within a few moments.

 _It’s a term of endearment,_ she shrugs helplessly at the end. _You should be flattered._ Her teeth bite her lower lip as she bows her head apologetically. It’s like she honestly just can’t control her potty mouth.

He decides he’s going to keep her.

\--

Art is thirty-five when Elizabeth Childs becomes his partner.

She is unexperienced and clumsy and loud at the most inappropriate of times but she’s a lithe runner, an accurate shooter and probably the fastest learner he’s ever met. He always complains about her to their coworkers, _obnoxious white girl_ and _thinks she rules the world_ constant descriptions of her. She makes faces behind his back and he rolls his eyes, _see, I told you._

When she leaves the room, Janis quirks a knowing eyebrow and he sighs.

_Kid’s got potential but don’t you dare tell her I said that._

\--

Art is thirty _-_ six when he meets Beth’s (she’s Beth now, after all they’ve been through) boyfriend. His name is Paul and he’s tall and buff, with a wide smile and insincere eyes.

Art automatically decides he doesn’t like him.

Beth is on cloud nine, basically, always talking about the guy, how charming and romantic he is and how lucky she is for having him.

Art wants to be happy for her, he really wants to but he’s gone out for a dinner with the two a couple of times and Paul looks at Beth with the cold, calculating love people look at their possessions with. Like he knows he’ll always have her even when he doesn’t need her anymore.

He mentions his worries only once, vaguely, something in the lines of _You really love this Paul dude, don’t you?_

She senses something, grins, rolls her eyes.

 _Don’t get your panties in a bunch, dipshit._ Then more seriously, _He’s the one, Art. I know it._

Art nods and that’s all of it.

\--

Art is thirty-seven when he witnesses the breakdown of Elizabeth Childs.

She’s on edge all the time now, her face an unhealthy pale hue, and her eyes constantly look red and puffy like she’s been crying. She has nervous tics, almost invisible little twitches. Her shoulders are always tense. Her smile looks glued to her face.

Art suspects Mr Muscle has something to do with it but he doesn’t demand an answer from Beth because he knows it won’t be an honest one.

He finds a bottle of sleeping pills in her locker. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs them and throws them in the nearest garbage can outside the station.

 _Art, have you opened my locker?,_ she eyes him mistrustfully the next day.

He snorts through his nose.

_The fuck are these questions, Childs? You keep anything illegal there?_

She sighs, _You’re impossible,_ and tries to smile.

Her locker always stays locked from then on.

\--

He can’t save her, he realizes. He can’t save her. He can’t.

He cannot.

She has to be saved but he can’t save her.

He can only slow the inevitable.

 _I trust you to keep her safe,_ his mother had said and she had smiled, not only with her mouth but with her eyes as well.

\--

Art is thirty-seven when Elizabeth Childs commits suicide.

\--

Art is still thirty-seven when he meets Sarah Manning, Helena and Tony Sawicki.

They all have Elizabeth Childs’ face.

Sarah's actually been Elizabeth Childs, for awhile.

But they’re not her.

\--

Sarah trusts him. Not at first but eventually. That's okay because at first he didn't trust her either.

And she treats him like she actually believes he can help her.

He knows about assault and depression and suicide. He knows about physical pain and mental pain and wanting to kill and wanting to be killed.

But he doesn’t know anything about _this_.

For the first time someone actually believes in him and he doesn’t know what to do because he’s used to trying to save only people who can’t be saved.

He’s nobody’s hero.

\--

Helena doesn’t trust him. Not at the beginning, not ever. The first time he sees her, she’s in a muddy white gown, heavy boots on her feet, and she’s running and she looks so scared, so small.

He almost forgets she’s a psychopathic serial killer.

She eats all of his food, cuffs him to the counter in his kitchen and runs away. A wild animal, used to growling and clawing and tearing apart.

A wild animal no one ever tried to domesticate, in a pure way.

He thinks of obscure ranches and arranged marriages and God’s word and white and realizes getting domesticated is never pure.

\--

Tony Sawicki doesn’t give a single damn about him. She doesn’t really look impressed by this whole clone thing ( _He is trans,_ Felix corrects him firmly), the only thing that interests him is finding Beth.

Art feels his heart clench painfully in his chest. Beth seems to be the solution to everyone’s problems these days.

If only he’d been able to…

 _Just one, I’m a few, no family too,_ Felix starts as if reciting a poem and Art feels his skin prickle.

_Who am I?_

Tony just looks pissed.

 _Pretty gay by the looks of this place,_ he snaps and no matter how weird it sounds, he seems to be the only one to really have his shit together.

The only one who managed to save himself.

\--

Art is almost thirty-eight (but not quite) and he has no idea who he is.


End file.
